Between the freezing high peaks of terror and endless summer on pacifist
flood-plains lies the four-seasons landscaping of the threat.
I loved you, so I drew these tides ofMen into my handsAnd wrote my will across
theSky and starsTo earn you Total Landscaping, the FourPillared worthy
house,That your eyes might beShining for meWhen we came
Turning and turning in the widening gyre / the garden-gnome cannot see the
landscaper / things fall apart / the cockpit cannot hold / more republican
blood is spilled on Pennsylvania’s soil
I met a traveller from an antique land,Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of
stoneStand in this desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,Half sunk a shattered
visage lies, whose frown,And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,Tell that
its sculptor well those passions readWhich yet survive, stamped on these
lifeless things,The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;And on the
pedestal, these words appear:I am the Four Seasons Total Landscaping Gnome;Look
on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!Nothing beside remains. Round the decayOf
that colossal Wreck, boundless and bareThe lone and level sands stretch far
away.”
“I was walking along the road with two friends – the sun was setting – suddenly
the sky turned blood red – I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence
– there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city –
my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety – and I sensed
an infinite scream passing through the Four Season’s Landscaping lot. "
